


Slow Boat

by kikibug13



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-26
Updated: 2011-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikibug13/pseuds/kikibug13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two of the biggest underground families in San Francisco have heiresses chosen to inherit - but when somebody plots to destroy one of those women and blame the other for it, unexpected connections will need to prove enough to preserve their positions and lives.<br/>If not enough to ensure their love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Boat

**Author's Note:**

> This work is for the LiveJournal challenge at novel_bigbang.
> 
> The wonderful Sam has created art for it, and you can find it [here](http://nosecretatall.deviantart.com/gallery/28035347#/d4ayi7m)!
> 
> Many thanks to all who supported and helped through writing this!

Marty started from his sleep. The sound outside that had woken him up clanged again, followed by low, angry words. He curled in his cot, hoping whoever it was would go away, this was too close. Even with both his parents at home, he was frightened by it.

Banging outside after his bedtime always meant trouble. At least it wasn't on _their_ door, although it sounded pretty near.

Not that anybody told him any of that. Marty heard things here and there, put the different things together any way he could.

This part of the city, he knew, was controlled by the big gangs. He didn't know what gang or mafia or clan was, but they apparently ran things differently. Three of them had tentative presence on his street and the next one. Which wasn't usual, and it made the grown-ups very worried, even if Marty didn't quite understand why. The Chinese were usually nice, at least to him, and there were the most of them nearby. Although by the sound of it, the ones outside weren't them.

And then there was the brrrroooowwwwm of bikes, several, and he actually ducked up to look outside and catch a sight of them, he _loved_ motorbikes. As long as he could remember, he'd liked them.

... they were the Chinese. There was the nice man who had helped him back to his house the other day, when things had gotten out of hand outside. And there was the older man who looked at him oddly, and one day had whispered to him that whatever anyone says and however good things look, one day, drugs were bad and Marty should stay away from them.

They didn't look nice at all, now. When the few who had been wearing helmets in the first place took them off, they all looked fierce. Angry and determined and a little ugly in the spotty streetlight. More so because of the way they were scowling at the people who had been yelling earlier, short and dangerous and scary.

It was trouble, all of them together. At all of his almost nine years of age, Marty was aware of it already before the challenges started flying between them.

Whose territory it was. Go away. No, you go away. You're not working this area. You cannot hold it. Get out, little squinty-eyes folks. Get out, clumsy ghost-skins. Or what? What will you do?

Marty could hear way too well, even though his window was closed against the spring chill - the house was way too rickety for any sort of sound insulation. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the dangerous dance down on the street, either; leather and boots creaking, things glinting in hands or wrapped around knuckles or protruding from shoes. Two crooked lines of people stood, facing each other, then they got more broken, closer. The boy's breath was held in frightened anticipation as the first motions, too fast for his eye to follow, not like any movie or game he'd seen, started, accompanied by grunts, too quiet to be screams, but he wondered how that was--

... when a hand wrapped around his eyes, his mother's familiar smell enveloping him in immediate comfort. "You do not watch this, niño carito."

His breath hitched, but he nodded, slumped back against her. "Will they be all right?"

Before she could respond, there was a loud, sharp thunder, and a few more. He could see stars while his eyes were open, so he didn't know how that happened, so close by the sound of it. He started with the sounds, his mother's body was fairly shaking behind him, her voice a little squeaky at the end, but nearly steady. "Maybe. You sleep, Marty."

"Yes, Mom." He snuggled back a little more, and she hugged him tighter for a bit, before reaching to pull the curtains closed, and settling him against the pillow.

She didn't leave until he was asleep.

 

Mick fucking _hated_ to be woken up by his phone ringing. The alarm was bad enough, but he could flip that off and bury the phone under the covers and forget about it.

When somebody was calling though... well, he had cultivated the habit to _answer_ when he was called. He wasn't in a position to dictate things. And since the courtesies that were required of him were pretty simple and few, he didn't really object. Much.

But he still fucking hated when she'd call him before he woke up. She _knew_ what his schedule, as it was, was for the day. What time was it anyway?

Shit.

The digits of the hour glowing discretely from the player across the room made him wake up a little more. It was early enough that it might mean trouble. And if something had happened to her... He let the cold shiver run down his spine and pressed the answer button of the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Good morning." It was a strange voice. Modulated over the phone. Not anybody who would be calling from her, then. He half relaxed, half tensed even more.

"What'd you want?"

"I think the more interesting subject of discussion would be... what do _you_ want." The amusement leaked even through the metallic dint to the sound. Mick swore. "I would appreciate it if you would mind your language during our conversations, Mr. Mick."

"That sounds way like her or them for me to be amused by it. If it's some kind of a prank..."

All traces of levity evaporated. "As a matter of fact, it is not. I know about your situation and can possibly help."

"Ha. Ha. I'm not going anywhere from where I am, dude. I'll get into way too much of the bad kind of trouble if I do."

"And if I can offer you untouchable safety?"

Silence. It was too early for this shit. "Who are you again?"

"I'd rather that remain secret. I thought better of your deductive abilities. What with the voice modulation..."

"Right. You wake me up at shit o'clock in the morning and expect me to walk blindfold into a bag that can get me skewered so very easily, and you won't even tell me your name?"

"Yes. That is exactly the situation."

"Screw that. I'm calling you Ed."

To his surprise, he didn't get a denial or explanation why he shouldn't. Instead, the metallic sound that he heard was laughter. "As you wish, Mr. Mick."

"That wasn't supposed to be funny."

"Oh, but it is. When you know a little more, you might even be amused yourself."

"Tell me!"

"Ah, no. But please consider my offer. You can get what you _actually_ want, what you want now, rather than what you agreed to, what, three years ago? You see things differently now from then, don't you."

He didn't have a smartass answer to that.

If the dude on the other end of the line could ensure his safety, though...

"I'm listening."

"Are you. Maybe it will work better after a few coffees and three aspirin."

That gave Mick another chill. He knew WHAT he had with breakfast. "That's creepy, dude."

"It's informative, Mr. Mick. It will also remind you that you are under scrutiny and I do know what I'm doing. Not even she knows that detail, now does she."

"No, I think she's back at one aspirin. She missed it when I upped the dose."

"See? I know more than her."

"Possibly."

"Definitely."

Ugh. Way, way too fucking early.

"All right, I'll take it that you know what you're talking about. Now the other part. What d'I need to do?"

"What do you mean, Mr. Mick?"

"Oh, come on. I'm awake enough. Nothing comes for nothing, you must have something in mind for me or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"If you hear the price, you will have to consider the deal. And do remember that you have nothing to link me with my identity."

"The phone you're calling me with."

"Disposable."

"The people who know this number. That should be traceable."

"With an organization as big as the one she will rule one day? I rather doubt that, Mr. Mick."

Ugh. He hated when somebody else was right all the time. Everybody else was right all the time, dammit, and he despised the fuck out of it.

"Fine, Eddie. I'm listening. Sing to me. What'd I have to do to get to the promised land?"

More modulated laughter.

He was becoming a good friend with the cold shiver thing.

 

The silk of her sleeping robe sleeve had wrinkled beneath Ju's cheek and nose, giving her the funny feeling that it had imprinted on her face and tickling her nostril so when she moved her head only that little bit which happened because she was awake, the tickling grew stronger and then over the edge. She tried to hold on to sleep a moment longer, but her nose twitched, and then the logical conclusion happened. She sneezed.

There was a silence, and then a quiet gong vibrated, through her ears and echoing in her teeth, informing her that she had awoken. Well, technically informing everybody _else_ , but letting _her_ know she didn't have the option of snuggling into the covers for another quarter-hour.

It was time to face the day.

Which, to begin with, meant rising to kneel as the curtains of her bed were opened and sunlight stroked her skin for the first time. Or... well, this season, the time she woke up most days, artificial light. But the habit was developed under the light of the actual sun, and a taste of that always remained with her, during the long weeks of winter, here.

The two servants who drew the curtains bowed low, then rose again to fasten them open, before reaching hands to help her up. (Not that she needed the help, but such was the tradition she was used to.) Each of the maids taking a hand, they guided her to the altar for the morning obeisance, the smell of the incense filling her lungs and permeating into her hair and skin.

Her hair was what got attention next, too, when the maids led her to the low seat at the vanity table. The tangles of sleep were worked out with delicate ivory combs, quickly but nimbly, and then it was brushed to a deep black-blue glow with brushes of mixed natural and silk bristles. The arrangement was her usual, almost traditional of its own, and fixed up, leaving her neck and shoulders bare.

Then the offending nightgown went off, skilled fingers giving her a brief massage before she was allowed the short-lived privacy of her morning shower. Not that her attendants hadn't gone in with her, in other places and at other times, but here, this was precious alone time, before the gentle hands took hold of her again. Drying, dressing, a layer of traditional, or traditional-based, clothing under the veneer of luxurious local... fashionable clothes. San Francisco provided plenty of fashionable clothes that she could stand herself dressed in. Shoes were more complicated, she was very picky, always searching the balance between a pair that would amend her natural shortness some, and one that would be convenient for all situations she could find herself in.

Like a shootout. Or an opera soiree. Or am ambassadorial dinner party, where she would be allowed at the fringes because she had the money and clout to require it and no closer than that because she was the heiress of ... who she was.

Then came the careful application of makeup. It took a long time at the very beginning, and every time one of her attendants needed to be replaced, the time for it spiked up again. But now it was a tolerable procedure, one that both her and her maids knew well. Today, only one worked on her face, which meant she probably got enough sleep or something and therefore was looking fresh enough to need less than usual. Or her nails were really in urgent need of care, because that was what the other servant did - clean and file and buff and re-polish.

It wasn't a quick ritual, all over. Rising and being ready within fifteen minutes was something she had heard about but couldn't imagine about herself.

There was little conversation before her shower. Or maybe before the morning tea, brought while she was drying and before drinking it could disrupt the meticulous artistic work.

That might have been because Ju's temper before her morning tea tended to be legendarily bad. Or because her focus was almost as notoriously short.

After that, during makeup and manicure, chatter slowly began asserting itself. Most of it was in Chinese, the language in which she had been raised, but there were occasional recognizably English words, borrowed for simple expression of ideas first encountered in English, or out of laziness, or because they were names of events or locations that needed to be preserved for comprehension.

Her maids' gossip was very much not what most women's gossip would be. It was filled with details and layers. They were both trained at spying and discerning information out of sources difficult to make out, and also as well screened as they could be, but that didn't mean that they wouldn't put their own spin to the information they filtered through to her, even in the arguments between themselves. By now, Ju was adept in the art of sorting through the morning babble. Determine what was actual information, actual news; what was messages from somebody or another, direct or less so, what was misdirection for her benefit, or her household's, and what was plain nonsense.

Oh yes. And which of the information directives were given by her household. That was very important for her to always keep track of, as somebody who was expected to rule this family one day. May it be far away, she added silently.

The morning gossip was a superb way for her mind to wake up, in several ways. Learning news, stocking up information, remembering what were her tasks for the day, and processing the information, dissecting the data until it made sense. And planning for the future, that was always necessary. Knowing her next steps, having plans for the future was important if she wanted to live. Not even rule. It was a difficult life, as an heiress of a family such as hers.

A family of... putting it mildly, outlaws.

It made the entire traditional aristocracy practice deeply decadent. And ironically realistic, in some ways, not that many would admit the deeper origins of aristocracy. People who could back up their claims to land and money and privileges by the strength of arms long enough for everyone to believe they were better. That was what the Qiu _were_ , after all. Better at what they did than anyone else.

And when it came down to defending territory - literal or figurative - by strength of arms (and brains), she could do that with the best of them. It hadn't mattered that she had been a girl, as long as she could remember. She hadn't _started_ as the heiress, even though her parents were the rulers of their ... clan. Organization. There were different words, sometimes, but they knew what they were, always would. Others' definitions were irrelevant.

There had been doubts, at first, about her fitness to do what needed to be done, to keep them strong. For a while after she was born, she knew, there was still hope that her parents would produce a male heir, or that one of the other close blood relative boys would show special aptitude and dedication, so he could take the top. Ju's mother had been pretty silent on the subject where Ju could hear her - but then, she had been all of five years of age. That old, when the _thing_ happened. Their household was attacked, and Ju's mother had been among the first to fall.

Ju remembered feeling the absolute determination, the certainty of what she needed to do. She had trusted herself, and while the assailants had been searching for her - the heiress was a prize for ransom - she was the only one among her cousins who had succeeded in tricking circles around the enemy, slowly driving them away from weak points until the House's warriors had returned in force and plucked the surviving intruders one by one. She'd had blood smudged across her face at the end of the whole thing, and her tears had fallen pink on top of her mother's body. But nothing had restored her mother to life, no amount of heroism or valor or wits.

And yet she had been praised above any other, and only _then_ had her training to replace her father begun. Maybe it had helped, that it had started so quickly after and she had had no time to think it through. It had still hurt, but she had been five.

And she had never forgotten the familiar hands, cold in hers.

It made her character an unpredictable mix, of whimsical and ruthless and occasionally merciful and kind. Her future subjects gave her obeisance because of who she was going to be, but they gave her respect and obedience because of who she _was_.

She was settled, arranged and proper and peaceful, when the first business of the day came in to her attention. Much of the work still went through her father, but he was away at the moment, so she was running shop. Or house. Either.

It took all of three sentences within the report for any trace of serenity to leave her, lips thinning and eyes narrowing.

There had been blood shed, last night, her people's blood. Shed by servants of the Montere family, who should know better than to encroach on Qiu territory, but they apparently hadn't. And her men had been slightly less careful than they should have been, and she made the ones who could stand - who survived and could stand - line up in the large reception room, against the northern wall, and await her pleasure. Or, as the case was, _dis_ pleasure.

Ju Qiu was very displeased indeed.

She walked into the reception hall holding her thing bamboo switch and tapping with it against her calf. Impatiently.

She could call for the platform to be brought so she could face the street soldiers more evenly - they were all of them above average height - but she chose not to.

She didn't need to, and not because she reached much higher than the middle of the chest of most of them. As angry as she was right now, there was not one among them who could meet her eyes, from higher up or not.

Which was why, of course, what Ju did first was pace in front of them, slow and seeking eye contact with every one of them. After as little as two passes, none of them would meet her gaze. Six passes more and they were making an effort to hold their presentation positions against the urge to shrink away from her.

"I would like it known," she cut through the silence, eventually, her voice chill "that the carelessness of last night must not be repeated. Ever." She was quiet for another two passes in front of them before going on. "What were the mistakes you made? Dragon wing?" She fixed the formerly second-in-command of the wing, now acting squadron head. He barely blinked, then started to give the rundown of his wing's errors.

His wasn't the wing which had trespassed the most. His was the wing which had saved the most of their comrades. She started with him on purpose.

By the time she worked her way through the sole standing survivor from the guiltiest section (there were two more in critical condition and one who had gotten hamstrung, of all things; Ju was going to have words with them if and when their condition permitted, too), he was pale. When she stood before him, he met her eyes for a moment, then knelt and held out his knife, head bowed.

Good. He knew where he was standing.

She reached, her small fingers gripping the hilt strongly, and she could _see_ his bulked body tensing as she lifted the blade. It was within her mandate to do anything. Slit his throat. Sever a finger. Cut him off from belonging with the Qiu.

Toying with the options in her mind, she let him kneel like that in suspense. Then she reached and ran the blade through his warrior's braid knob, making the remaining hair fall around his face like a short curtain. He kept his weapon keen. She approved.

Her decision was mercy, and he knew it. The great shoulders sagged, slowly, and after a moment he had lowered himself to the floor, prostrate in profound gratitude. _Good_.

Then ever so slowly, he crept forward until he kissed the tip of her shoe, a sign that his appreciation was not only for her action, but for her person. Interesting. Maybe she would keep him in mind, and if he survived the period of punishment when doing so would be counterproductive to discipline, she might bring him to her bed, some night. It had been a while.

After that, the round-up went into questioning after information of the sort reports never delivered. Direct intelligence from the streets, feelings that were betrayed more in body language than in verbal responses. Maybe she had not lived _in_ the streets themselves. She could still know more about them than many, and did her best to learn more. So when her Father returned from his journey, may the gods preserve him on his way, his empire would not be diminished because of Ju having been in control of it.

The Montere threat had to be dealt with. In the best possible way.

She was getting some ideas on what that might be, now.

 

Ravenna caught her reflection in the glass doors for a moment and didn't linger, walking inside framed by the two bodyguards. She was familiar with her looks, after all. Tall, slim body, the inappropriate for her line of work soft curves negated by the stern lines of her business suit. They rarely even got accented during evening entertainment, unless she was deliberately looking to mislead. As she sometimes did. Her dark straight hair was twisted into a smooth 'do, concealing its length and leaving her olive-complexioned face open, which accentuated her slightly sharp features. Dark eyes under heavy lashes. Faint make-up, she didn't want to waste too much time on it so she had made a habit of applying only the necessary - and only the best quality.

The impression was exactly what she wanted to give. A determined, ambitious business woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. And she was. The fact that she had a loaded gun in the delicate-looking purse, or that she could recognize an obscene number of poisons by look, smell, or taste, and knew their antidotes, or that she had killed people (not too many, usually others did it for her) with her bare hands... all of that was irrelevant.

She stepped out of the elevator, and for a moment she knew that every eye that could, from any office or workstation, was focused on her. Her gaze flicked to the clock on the wall - still two minutes ahead, and she was still precisely on time, and everyone returned to their jobs, a certain hush she appreciated spreading around her like waves in a lake.

Her assistant fell into step with her before she had taken three steps outside the elevator; good. She ran through her schedule for today, and only a moment later added, quiet and end efficient, "however, your morning schedule might need to be rearranged some. There has been a conflict related to the acquisition being worked around the Qiu holdings that you will probably want to look into."

"Conflict?"

Esther didn't bother to look around to see who might be listening. It was a given that even if nobody _seemed_ to be, the entire floor was bugged by different organizations and even by other ... employees, for political or (they thought) traitorous purposes - although there were periodic sweeps to clear out the outdated ones. Outdated tech. Outdated sources.

"Casualties on both sides. None left for the authorities."

"Captives?"

"Negative. The reports are on your desk." So was the suggested schedule rearrangement. Ravenna took about five minutes to skim through the top report, then when her coffee arrived, she gave Esther the exact appointments that needed to be canceled or rescheduled. Which was more than the suggestion, everything until noon, in fact, but it shouldn't be expected of her assistant to have a view of the larger scheme of things. It was Ravenna's work.

Everything until noon was also an optimistic estimate, even if not overly so because of the expected efficiency of her staff. They did not disappoint her. The reports and analyses and memos she requested appeared on her desk as quickly as she needed them, and the contact information she could use was precise and punctual.

Rather than a raven, as her name suggested, she felt more like a spider, pulling the strings of her web and knitting them together until the damage was sealed off, stopped from spreading and then gradually mended. Only relatively very few people ever saw her... knowing who she was, in full. Or in essential part. Even at the evening events she attended - opera, theater, art exhibitions - where she was introduced with her actual name, people either didn't allow themselves to know, or didn't have a way to know it all. Not that she wasn't ready for the day when some of them _would_ be - but ignorance was a fact that she had come to terms with.

Some of the people who worked for the Montere family knew her by face. Most didn't. Most people - who worshipped her or hated her or would put her behind bars - or fed her to their sexual fantasies - could pass her by on the sidewalk or in a traffic jam and not have a clue who she was. Not know that she was the focus of their attention just then, or owned their lives.

The survivors from last night's fight didn't get to learn who she was, either. Even though she took the time to visit those of them in the hospital - both upstairs and down - and saw the rest through a fully polarized window, watching their patterns for a few minutes in the room where they were filed into for her convenience.

The decision to expand into the tenuously held Qiu territory was, in fact, her father's. She had objected, on the grounds of how it would very likely lead to the next families war, and that they were not fit for that at this moment. He had overruled her, of course - and had also assigned her to oversee the progress and make sure it _didn't_ become a war. If she knew him a little less, she might have thought it was a punishment for speaking against him. As it was, she knew that it was a test. Another test. Always a test.

Last night's skirmish... hadn't been as bad as it might have been, because the Qiu soldiers had made mistakes, but it wasn't a good ssituation. Overall. It may have moved them a slight step closer to controlling the territory, but it was a much bigger motion towards starting a war.

She didn't like that.

So she worked on damage control. And the precise instructions that would be given to every single of their network of associates. And especially the soldiers.

The heiress to the Montere family had work to do, and it was going to get done.

 

The morning training session was behind Ju's back, now, as well as the time set aside for meditation, and she was back to minding the business. She was carefully writing out personally-encrypted messages, in English to the local _generals_ and in Chinese to those back home ... back overseas, she should overcome thinking of China as her home. San Francisco was her home now, had been for years, and defining terms otherwise was counterproductive. She had barely begun a letter when the doors opened unexpectedly.

There was only a very limited set of reasons why that would be acceptable, and she straightened from her writing table immediately. As her eyes quickly scanned the group of people fanning into her private working area, she quickly rose to her feet and bowed low, with utmost respect, then knelt again, waiting for the word of her Glorious Father. He had returned.

The head of the Qiu family was flanked by his highest-ranking general - the brother of Ju's mother - and his son, Ju's cousin Tengfei; there were three soldiers and a scribe behind them; sometimes, every word of her Glorious Father - and those that he conversed with - needed to be recorded for future examination or meditation. The scribe used very modern means to actually record the conversations, and only later transferred the contents into more traditional forms, with pen and paper or even brush and scroll. As befitted something so important.

"Radiant daughter," he made her smile by opening with the formal but fond form of address. "I greet you. How fare you?"

He was a short man, her father. Taller than her, but not by much. Every man in the room was taller than him, probably stronger. And yet when he spoke, there was a hush through the room, solid and respectful and gratifying.

"I am well, o Glorious Father," she said, her happiness shining through, "and I welcome you to my humble working premises. Your presence illuminates them."

Her father's face softened, and that was a good sign, but not into a full smile, which wasn't.

He asked after two specific tasks he had charged her with, and had monitored the progress of erratically - in appearance, and very thoroughly, as all that he did - and asked after them in detail now. Not excruciating detail, no, but more than he usually took interest in, or had since she turned about seventeen. Down to the name of the ships that she was sending across the Pacific. The two fast ones and the four slower. It wasn't outside her knowledge; she even knew how long the first two would have docked at the family estate in the southern province, before the others caught up with them. All in clear waters, not intersected by any other officially scheduled vessels. And the unofficial... well, they'd deal with those as they should.

Then he inquired after her current work, the conversation slowly notching down from the fully formal tone.

Tengfei and his father were not standing still behind her father, unlike the other four. They moved around her room, not rummaging, which would have been unacceptable, but looking at things more closely than they were usually wont to. As the talk between her and father spiraled into the mundane, Tengfei even braved to comment on some of her half-answered files. She wished she had fully replied to them so that she could close the files until newer developments, but it was too late now.

It wasn't much, and Tengfei didn't - wouldn't - dare be any more overt, not in the presence of her father who had chosen her as his heir and trusted her with his work. Who had come to see her personally as soon as he had arrived home, rather than let her know in other, less personal ways and bid her to attend to him.

And yet there was something in her cousin's manner which suggested a slight cockiness, as though he knew something that she didn't. Which shouldn't be so, the weaves of information should be held in _her_ hands, and if he knew something, he should tell her. Unless he was planning something against her.

Her cousin's plotting was the last thing she wanted to deal with, just now, not with the Montere pressing them and the casualties from last night having to shift around to cover for. And her Father's inquiries, much more detailed than he was usually accustomed to... As the door closed behind them, she sagged a little, for a moment, before turning to her own scribe, who had knelt in her corner, quiet and proper the entire time. "Please inform the club that I will go singing tonight. As usual."

As the girl ran off to obey, Ju ran her fingers over her forehead, lightly so as not to disturb her makeup.

The visit was unsettling.

Not upsetting. She could not afford to be upset. But it was unsettling.

No mind. She would start queries to find out if her suspicions were true, and until those inquiries gave fruit, she would step away from herself for a few hours.

Ju Qiu, the heiress of the Qiu family, could not use her singing talent. Not in private - because she was rarely, if ever, completely alone - and most definitely not in public.

But she needed to let go, in a way that meditation or martial arts or violence never allowed her to. So she sang, unknown to anyone attending - not even the owner of the place - under an assumed name, with assumed clothes. As somebody else. Her own security detail oversaw the location to make sure that going incognito was sufficient safety precaution, and for a few hours, life was simpler. Falser, but simpler.

Few hours that sometimes she needed.

 

Dinners - and any other dates - with her fiancé were always prearranged. Of course, in the beginning, Mick had attempted surprising her, but after finding her decidedly _not_ in a state to meet with him three out of four times (her guard had managed to stop him two out of those three times), he developed the healthy habit of checking the surprise visits against her schedule, if not with her, at least with her assistant. Esther had inherited the situation but had learned to handle it quite efficiently.

It stole away some of the spontaneity of the relationship, Ravenna had to admit, but spontaneity wasn't what she'd been looking for anyway. In fact, where he was concerned, she was far more pleased with predictability and reliability.

He came to pick her up at seven sharp. He had been late exactly twice. The second time he'd been waylaid, when on his own, by a party waiting to ambush her. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that if he was with her - and her bodyguard - he had much better chance of making it out unhurt.

He wasn't a bad man, Mick. The reasons for her agreeing to eventually marry him were numerous and varied, and, yes, she did like him. But courage wasn't one of his best features. Which was quite fine, she had enough for both of them.

She was ready, waiting for him in the parlor, straight green dress which went beautifully with her complexion and tasteful jewelery and a little more make up than during the day and her hair half-loose, falling over her shoulders and then gathered between her shoulder-blades, again hiding the rest of the length in a braided knob.

He rang the door and was let in while her old Nana went to get her wrap. He was shown inside the parlor and when Ravenna smiled up at him, his face lit up in the familiar way, eyes so bright that they seemed to illumiate the whole room. Oh yes, he liked what he saw. Good.

"Good evening, luv. Ready to relax some?" He learned down for a quick kiss of greeting, which she returned.

"I absolutely am, darling." The endearment, so rare to fall from her lips, was actually meant, right now. Mick Taggart was far from perfect, but she did care for him. She rose, steady on the high heels, as her top clothes arrived, and when she was ready, he offered his arm.

Even on these shoes, he was taller than her, the straight lines of the suit complimenting his fit figure.

Or... it had been fit once. There were just a bit more cheeks to his face than when they started, three years ago. And there was the hint of a belly flab when the wings of his suit jacket opened.

 _Odd._ It was. But he was still handsome, and careful, and after all this time, he was well trained. It didn't occur for her even once to call off the arrangement they had, as it suited her perfectly. He knew who he was and why, he didn't attempt to get involved with her business, either the legal or the underbelly side of it, and he was decorative enough. Well mannered. Clever enough to keep up with her and yet keep away from the things that were bad for his health. Quick-witted - he managed to make her laugh twice during the drive to the restaurant alone - and solicitous.

There was no spark. She wasn't burning with desire to get married to him and let him make a number of babies on her, but then again, her desires were more complicated. She wanted him well enough. Eventually. Now, he was a way to let go, briefly.

Talk about things that _weren't_ involved with her work at all, unless she wanted to. Discuss movies, books, even cartoons, things that she rarely, if ever, had time for, but which he could tell the stories of to her and she would enjoy the narrative.

"And other than reading and watching things," she laughed eventually, sometime during the second course, "what have you been doing?"

He seemed to like the question, a warmer smile on his face. "Oh, nothing much. Gym, home. Studying some, but I think I am getting tired with the academics. Do I have to go on doing it?"

"Oh, that is entirely up to you, darling," she said, the random thought of how _empty_ and lazy his life had become occurring to her and then moving on, "it would be good if you finish the degree you are into, just so that it doesn't stay open in your biography - could not complete the final degree he pursued," oh yes, he laughed at that, just on cue, "but other than that, you can do with your time as you wish."

"If I don't go anywhere." There was something odd to his tone, and she blinked at him confused.

"Do you _want_ to go somewhere else?" Ravenna reached across the table to lay her fingers on the back of his sleeve. "I'd miss you terribly."

Again that softer expression, and a tiny sigh. "No, luv. I wouldn't dream of going away on you, of course." His face lowered, and then he reached to hold her fingers in his and raise them to his lips, before he thumb caressed her knuckles. "You wouldn't go anywhere on me, either, now would you?"

"This is where I belong, Mick. You know that."

"I guess I do." He half smiled. "I'm sorry, I do not know what came over me. More wine?"

"Half a glass only."

"As you wish." His eyes glimmered green at her, and it was all right again.

The warm feeling lasted through the end of the dinner, including ordering a flambé dessert that Mick pretended to singe his eyebrow on, making her almost laugh, it was so silly. It was one of Mick's gifts, really, almost succeeding in getting her to relax this much. Where passion was missing, laughter should help, she thought.

She even curled inside his arms on the drive back, let his strong, tall body be the best cushion she could imagine, his fingers caressing the back of her arm, just under the edge of her sleeve. It was nice, she couldn't help thinking, even if there seemed to be some tension in his body, some near buzzing of contained pressure, but he didn't say anything, so she let it go. It was very pleasant even so, his soft, faintly musky and elaborately chosen scent embracing her, enhanced by faint aromas of the meal they had shared. Hints of a cigar he had passed by, maybe, or possibly that was in his eau de cologne. Could he have spent _that_ much time choosing his scent?

Why not, really? What else did he have to do, other than the studies he was hesitant about.

She almost wrinkled her nose at that, but he murmured a compliment in her ear just then, and the grimace resolved into a smile, instead.

"This is pleasant, you know."

"Yes?" There was a smirk in his voice, and it was _almost_ enough to turn back at him and glare, even if it was mostly a mock glare, just now. "It's usually something people like, in fact. Snuggling. Hugs."

"Usually. I'm not usually people," she reminded him, the faint nudge near enough to dislodge her from the comfortable place she had found herself in. Not quite, especially since he sighed, nuzzled into her hair, and let it go.

"No, you are not. I guess that is one of the things that keeps me close to you."

"You like the danger?"

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. "I guess you can say that. Or the aura of power it gives you." They were pulling at his house - the house she had given him as a present shortly after their engagement and she had even stayed at a few times.

Chastely. No sex before the wedding was one of the conditions of the agreement between them. It wasn't either a very typical or very atypical kind of agreement, not at their level ... not at _her_ level of clout. She was not ready even for the potentiality of children, though, she was still way too young and not settled in her seat of power, and removing the potential to begin with seemed the wisest course of action.

Anyone else, she could take full precautions with, if she had the whim to have somebody. And some of her preferences didn't involve the risk of _that_ at all. Mick... well, he was her fiancé. He had some power over her.

That frightened her.

And yet her hands on hers as he saw her out of the car were soft and kind, and his arms around her felt so good, reminding her of the tenderness in the back seat, the warmth through the meal.

It was enough to make her turn slightly in his embrace and kiss him. His hands shifted, held her closer, and after the very tiny moment of... less surprise and more sigh of tension relief, partial, he kissed back, all the pent up longing of weeks seeming to flow into her, amping up the warmth she was feeling into full-on desire.

The kiss lasted a while, merging into another, and yet another, half-breaths gasped between them, until his hand moved, spread against the small of her back and pressed her directly against himself, rubbing in that unmistakable way, and she leaned back, waited a moment, saw the fire in his eyes, and stepped away.

He panted for a moment, then his face flushed, his arms grabbing after her as she straightened and stepped even further. "You..." he rasped, "you frigid... bitch."

Ravenna could only stare at him for a few moments, completely taken aback by _that_.

"You cold, frigid, undeserving... you _are_ frigid, aren't you? All this time, all... this," he waved at the house, at the cars parked in front of it, all either presents from her or purchased out of his allowance, "and all my time and my affection, and all you give me are _crumbs_ , nothing more. One kiss. One. Kiss. Are you for _real_? Or, or are you cheating on me? Is there somebody else that you go back to that great house of your father's and you get behind closed doors and do the things with him that you don't let me do with you? Getting close and hot and bothered, sweating under the sheets, or against the door, making it rattle against the frame with how hard he is fucking you?" He was yelling now, and she was stepping back towards her car, his steps shortening the distance between them. "I won't _have_ it, Ravenna! I won't. If you don't let me have something, our agreement is _off_!"

"Mick," she finally found words, proud of herself for sounding as firm and steady as she did. "Did you have too much wine or something?"

"What?"

"You... I've never heard you say anything like this. I've never thought you _could_."

He paused. And then suddenly paled. "I..."

"You called off our agreement."

"I... didn't mean that." His voice was down to normal volume, praise the Lord. His fit of anger had faded, leaving him physically shaking, looking around. "I'm sorry. Ven. Please, I didn't mean that."

She stared another moment at him, then nodded. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"Thank you," he let out an explosive breath, and reached for her, but retracted his arms as soon as she flinched back. "I'm sorry."

She opened the door for herself and stepped back into the car blindly as he was beginning to talk again. Trying to apologize, to explain. Closing the door didn't cut him off. "Drive, Carlo!" And she huddled on the back seat as Mick's voice faded behind the car.

 

She was shaking, by the time she got home, climbed the grand staircase, and closed the door of her room behind her. Shaking, and her legs weren't quite holding her and she slid into her favorite armchair. After a moment, she pulled her legs up, careless of the delicate fabric of the dress. She'd get a new one, probably. She wouldn't be wearing this one after tonight, anyway.

 _Dio_ , her thoughts reverted to the language of her childhood. Had that just really just happened? The insults, the explosion. The desire and the rejection and the rejection back--

What would she _do_ , if he actually went through with that? It only took that few words to make parts of her world which had seemed so steady and reliable only a few hours ago quiver and shift, shaking the ground under her feet. It shouldn't have been so easy, it shouldn't have been within Mick's power at all, and when had that happened? When had she become dependent on him at all, let alone so much?

Was she dependent on him?

She tried to imagine her life without him there.

Some ways, it was so very easy. Many of her days he was nothing more than just another phonecall, maybe a brief meeting. Some days, like this one, there was some more time spent together. A few hours, a meal, sometimes entertainment. Sometimes spending an evening watching one of those movies he kept telling her about, with him falling asleep to snoring softly in her lap, making her wonder if his stories were the actual movies or he was making up the endings.

If he wasn't there...

Well, she would be a single heiress of an underground empire, a thick slice of the San Francisco underground, again. Subject of conflict, from squabbles to minor wars of factions vying for her attention. For her favor.

Mick was a very ... unconscious shield, as such went, but he performed his function perfectly, and she didn't regret either the expense or the security detailed assigned to make sure he wasn't removed for the sake of somebody else's convenience. Empty, lazy, lustful (or was it really she who was at fault?) Mick was a very good buffer, keeping at bay some of the pressure from her.

She couldn't be single, right now. There were too many tensions, pulling away at her from so many directions. What did that mean? She didn't know.

Ravenna ran her hand back through her hair, then her breath hitched as she recognized the gesture.

It had been her brother's. He had rarely made it when upset, at least not where his little sister could see it, but it was so very familiar.

He knotted his hair so as to conceal its length from curious eyes, too.

(He had been sixteen, for Heavens' sake, a small voice reminded her. It didn't matter.)

He had been the heir, the bright, brilliant son that everybody aligned after. Ravenna had worshipped him, and he had loved her, managing to bring warmth to his position in a way that Ravenna herself somehow didn't seem to be able to. She had to be efficient, she had to be perfect; he hadn't had to.

Then again, he had gotten shot in one of the mid-sized street conflicts. She had been eight, and it had taken two days to explain to her that, no, Marco wasn't coming back. Ever again. Not even if they tried to call him. And why.

A week later, she had fully understood it, when she'd snuck into her parents' room and had managed to read the report about his autopsy, the damage that the bullets had made in his body.

She'd made her Nana find somebody who would start teaching her how to shoot a gun the next day. She was very good at shooting a gun, now. It didn't provide a shield against getting shot, the way Marco had, but it gave her a little more security. And the dream that maybe one day she'd get the four people who'd shot him, herself.

Ridiculous, she knew now. This much later, she hadn't seen hide nor hair from even one of them. They were probably all dead and long buried. Or rotted in some gutter.

Hopeless. Everything that she wanted was hopeless. She rose from the armchair and tripped her way to the bed, flopping face-down on the downy mattress and finally kicking off her heels. She had a job to run, and she needed to be rested and focused for it. Her own wishes mattered nothing, they were useless. She had the iron will Marco's job had required; she would do.

Her eyes wouldn't close, though, wide open and burning and dry.

Some time later, Nana came in. Puttered gently around, her presence a breath of warmth threatening to undo all her resolutions all on its own, and then sat on the bed. Stroked her hair back, gentle and easy, and Ravenna's body wracked into a dry sob.

"Come, child," she murmured in Italian, eventually. "Come and wash your face, and put something that you'll be less noticeable in."

"I should sleep."

"But you can't, can you." There was a sad amusement in the non-question. "Come. I know a place you can relax. Me, you, and one of your guard, and nobody will know who you are. Only for tonight."

The words took a long time to reach her, but in the end Ravenna nodded. Slowly, she pulled herself to sit up, let Nana take care of her as she used to when she was little.

She didn't care where she was being taken. It didn't matter, so long as she could be somebody else. Just for tonight. Just for herself.

 

The rain had started suddenly, the way it sometimes did, near the ocean. It wasn't thick rain, sheets of water making the night completely impenetrable, but then, it wasn't the season for it, either.

The slight figure crossing from shadow to shadow was near invisible, anyway. He turned the collar of his coat up, against the rain, until it nearly overlapped with the fedora shading his face. Not particularly original, he knew, but it worked. He suspected that his height, or lack thereof, and the way he moved would clue most of the careful observers as to, at least, what race he belonged to, but that really couldn't be helped. Not unless he was ready to sacrifice speed and the certainty that the _less_ careful observers would just miss him. It was sort of an invisibility that he didn't want to part with. Those who paid attention...

Well. They'd learn what it was like to stand in the way of Tengfei Qiu. A lesson that would last the entirety of their very short remaining lives.

He still cursed his hesitation, the day when his little cousin solidified her hold on the inheritance of the empire. And empire it was, even if it wasn't called that, even if the lands weren't joined or held in the way they were, once upon a time, or that it wasn't an administrative unit. It most certainly was an economic one.

Tengfei had lost the initiative, that day. Little Ju had taken it from him and run away with it, and he had promised never, ever to hesitate again. Never to wait anyone else to do things for him.

So the voice on the phone gave some decent ideas, yes, and if the plan suggested could be pulled off, it would work his own interest and those of his family (for to the Qiu family he firmly belonged, however his disagreement with some decisions was expressed... or was _going_ to be expressed), but it was his drive putting the pieces together.

He had come to discuss arrangements for the execution of the plan with some workers on the docks. The quiet, grumpy, hostile workers, too, not the ones who got to sing their mother's milk with two pints of ale. He knew how to choose people right, if nothing else.

Well, much else, really.

He made his way to the next meeting place with a couple of minutes to spare. Which helped him not at all, since the contact was late. All of fifteen minutes, which Tengfei had to stand, still, in the chill rain as the sweat cooled off of him through the trench coat.

To say that he was less than pleased or benevolent when his contact showed would be an understatement. The irritation only got worse when the large man - limbs moving as those of a trim man, but he had started to collect way too much fat to be called even fit, any more. The rain plastered his longish hair to the sides of his face and neck, and the visual effect would have been ridiculous if he was in a more charitable mood.

As it was, he could only be derisive. "I appreciate your punctuality. Of course, I shouldn't have expected anything else."

"Oh, hello, shortie. You the one Ed said I should wait for?"

"Ed?"

"Voice? On the phone? Kind of mysterious, and I thought I'd bring that down a few notches by calling him Ed. Totally unmysterious, demystifying name, dontcha think?"

"Are you nervous, white boy? You seem to be babbling."

"I'm not in the mood for being mocked. I've had a bad night enough already." The snap was cross enough to sound like it wasn't made up, either. The thought cheered Tengfei, even as the babble continued. "So, anyway, Ed said I should be coming to you with the results from what he instructed me to do, and if I need help. Meets should be set up through her, or via leaving a message..." His hand tapped the fence behind him, "right behind this post. I'd appreciate it if you'll check regularly, this kind of shit is like to get me into too much trouble."

"You don't have the nerve, you stay out of it."

"Ha, ha. Don't think things'd be all that easy without me, shorty. It's a case of information and trust. And delivering the goods, in the shape she can be put to rest. What happens after that, well, that's up to you two. You and Ed can have her, for all I care."

"I," Tengfei snarled, "am not interested in indulging with a soft, undisciplined broad. I don't know who would be."

"Oh, with this one... well, I'd take her any day."

"This is not what it's about."

"No? Well, you'll have her available. But don't get me involved with any of the aftermath, all right? I just want out in the clear. No strings fucking attached. For the first time, in YEARS."

"You really think that's the way it works out, with the kind of people she'll be involved with?"

"It's what I'm in this for, dude. It's what Ed promised. So I'd better get it it."

"Or?" Tengfei almost snorted. _This_ was the man who would deliver the Montere heiress into their plan? How would that work?

"You'll see. I've got it covered."

He couldn't even bluff properly, the hollowness ringing in his words like winter piping.

"Get back to your pretty house and your stack of porn, white boy. Leave the work to those who know how to do it. But if you manage what you're promising, you'll get something special extra from me. And it won't be something you'll forget."

"Is that a threat?"

"It was a treat promise. I can change my mind at any time. Run along."

The other man actually growled. Tengfei nearly chuckled to himself, on his furtive, round-about, quiet way back to his car.

 

Walking into Wednesday's felt, Ravenna noted, like stepping into an entirely new world. She was hiding under an umbrella together with Nana, who was explaining to her that she wasn't entirely sure what exactly the program would be, tonight, as this wasn't her night off, but she knew the taste of the owners and it would be superb. They got inside in the middle of the sentence, and Ravenna got distracted, if only for a moment, by the soft gold-brown glow that embraced her. The entire interior was worked in dark woods and amber polished into a deep luster, lit by candles and candle-resembling lights. There was no fireplace, and she realized that she wasn't expecting one, it wouldn't fit with the style of the set-up.

The leisurely, jazzy music did, however. There was no nicotine smoke giving leisurely, translucent curtains among the tables, but somehow the arrangement and lighting almost gave that impression.

Coming from the rain and mucky gray outside, the change was more impressive than any three high-class, fashionable locales she had frequented in the last few years. Impressive. And her mood was already improving, curiosity piqued just that little bit she probably needed to perk up. Ravenna wasn't necessarily a night bird, but her schedule often required staying up or waking up at odd hours, so she wasn't surprised by the cheering up. More at the necessity of it, but even that was fading back, behind the creeping pleasure of this place, the swaying notes of the music and the crooning voice at the mic.

Nana had vanished from her side and the umbrella was taken from her hand by discrete, polite personnel, before the greeter walked to her with Nana at his elbow. His eyes flicked quickly over her dress and hair, at the security behind her, and after a couple of polite, formulaic lines, led them towards a small free table, almost directly across the center-stage.

The seating wasn't entirely arranged as an audience and not entirely as a pub, either. Tables were a little too close together for the latter, and yet distinct enough to make conversation between them possible but not necessary. It was... interesting.

She spotted her driver-cum-second-guard come in, be greeted, explain which party he belonged to, and take up his accustomed stance of propping the wall. When he first started, she had needed to discipline herself not to get distracted by the lovely sight he made. Her attention was still on him as she caught the couple on the next table checking through their program, caught the name _Mary Jing_ , and then the quiet comment that if that's the next number, it'd be breathtaking.

Ravenna was about to call the attention of the waitress and request a program of her own when the stage finished getting rearranged, a small Chinese woman with a stance that was downright regal walking out, and she decided to wait until the next break.

Then the first notes of the melody began, and the ... the Mary Jing began to sing, and everything else faded away to that voice, that song.

 _I'd like to get you... on a slow boat to China... all by myself, alone..._

In only a few words and the slow sweep of the wide, dark eyes across the audience from this close, Ravenna found herself imagining exactly that. Her and Mary, all alone, in a boat that rocked slowly, so lovely. The lights and colors of the place added to the imagined privacy, and for the first time, she realized how seductive and downright _hot_ this song was. And how attractive the singer.

By the last notes of the song, Ravenna's mouth was dry with desire, and all she could _think_ of was the small Chinese woman's limbs tangled with hers, how she could make her heart race and where she would touch and how, and the taste of those beautifully made-up lips against hers.

Oh, it had been a good while since she had had sex with another woman, and back then she had definitely not been in the leading position, making the entire experience very different from most of her sex with men. And memorable. And pleasing. But with Mary Jing? She would go either way and not even think about it twice.

There was a second number, and while she couldn't recognize the song - or couldn't focus enough to remember which one it was - it was just as bone-mellowing and turning on.

When Ms. Jing stepped behind the curtain, Ravenna finally did call the waitress. The young woman promptly leaned towards her, so that she could ask without the neighboring tables being alerted. Beautiful.

"Is it known that Mary Jing is married or otherwise... unavailable?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, that is information that the club doesn't have."

Oh... oh. _That_ formulation alone was revealing, now wasn't it. Ravenna could feel her smile spreading, slow and easy. "In that case, could you inquire if she would be amenable to spending a night in my company?"

"Would ma'am excuse my presumption, but seeing as you are here for the first time, could you tell me what name I should present your query from?"

She didn't miss a beat. "Rhea Maxwell." It wasn't a name she'd used ever before. But if she ended up staying the night, Nana would have her ID and credit card with it by the time she picked her up in the morning.

"Very well, ma'am. I'll let you know."

"Thank you."

Nana was watching her with a raised eyebrow, and Ravenna found herself swallowing and feeling slightly flushed. For the first time in almost two decades.

"So you found something to your liking to order, then?" The question was bland and made her cheeks heat even more. This was _so_ not the evening she was seeing before herself an hour ago. She rather liked this version.

"We'll see," she managed to answer, her voice almost the normal, haughty tone, even if not quite that. "What will you recommend from the card?"

Nana laughed. A moment later, Ravenna's own face eased in a slow, warm smile. If anyone saw her now, the random thought crossed her mind, they wouldn't recognize the young woman she remembered from the reflection in the glass doors of her office building this morning.

That was quite fine by her.

Her head leaned closer to Nana's over the menu, across the front of the implacable guard. She could enjoy the house until she waited for her answer.

 

Ju Qiu, or as anyone _here_ would ever call her, Mary Jing, was replacing her make-up, from the stage variety - even a small stage like this required a whole different approach - to the one she could show up at home, and potentially in front of her father, in.

The young woman from the staff knocked and respectfully waited for her response before entering, despite the fact that, unlike most places where she stayed, Ju didn't have the _right_ to this room. While the people employing the girl did. It amused her, but she definitely also approved of the politeness. "Yes?"

"Miss Jing. A customer would like to know if you would agree to a private viewing."

The words were almost nonchalant, if careful. As though they didn't carry much import. So they took all of three heartbeats before Ju comprehended their full meaning.

She could feel herself flush, and jumped out of the chair, sending it rolling into the wall behind her. "How... how _dare_ you!" Her voice jumped up, and the girl...

... well, instead of cowering, as any of her staff would do, she closed the door. Not that the unexpected reaction gave Ju any pause. "This is not what I come here for! Is this how you treat your employees? Is this what is _expected_ of me when I come here? Go! Go out immediately and call your manager! I want him _here_ this minute! I want ... I want him to order your customer thrown _out_ , who does _he_ think he is?"

"She."

The word was way too short and way too calm and quiet to be able to feed into Ju's momentum. "She! Who does she think... she is..."

The manager was a man, that much Ju knew. That left the _customer_ to be a woman.

"It's not a man?" Yes, she was surprised.

"No, Miss Jing. She is a first time patron, coming with an old, trusted regular. While we cannot vouch for what _can_ happen, this house has the practice of forwarding such inquiries from customers to performers. Or the other way around. Should a meeting be agreed upon, and it is entirely within your right to refuse it, it holds no obligations for you regarding any of what may happen there. If there are advances or even attacks that you do not wish, you can call on security just as any meeting with somebody... I guess, somebody from the street, at a respectable hotel, may transpire."

Ju blinked, the information washing through her in cooling waves. The sensation was unpleasant. "Do you have contracts for such assignations, then?" she spat.

"No, as far as I know. Although if you wish a contract drawn, I am sure the legal department can provide one for your and Ms. Maxwell's use."

"Maxwell?"

"Rhea Maxwell."

Ju thought a moment. "The name doesn't mean anything to me."

"From what anyone on the staff could see, she was pretty smitten by you and your performance."

"Smitten."

The girl shrugged. "Your songs are very powerful and pretty sexually seductive. And not only men are attracted to women."

"And not all men are attracted to women."

"True, but that is not the case now, is it."

"N-no." The thought of that suddenly made Ju swallow, confused. "I don't want to come to that sort of assignation as soon as anyone yanks my bell." Beat. And then she thrust her chin forward. "But I can do a private singing for Miss... Ms. Maxwell, if she will wish so. Tomorrow night."

"I shall give your answer to Ms. Maxwell and get back to you before you leave."

After a surprised moment, Ju found that the two words that fit the silence were actually pretty easy. "Th-thank you."

"Anytime, Miss Jing."

 _Where do these people find their staff?_ How _do they train them? I must pay more attention. And see if any of them are open to new opportunities._

It was easy to think on that than tomorrow night.

 

It was easier to think of _anything_ other than the appointment.

 

Ju had to remind herself many times that she was going to keep up the pretense of being Mary Jing - a night-club singer and daytime governess - longer than she ever had before.

That was also easier to keep in mind than what might happen.

She showed up for the appointment early, not expecting Rhea to be there, but if she was singing tonight, she needed to warm her voice up, and practice. As she did, her mind returned to what the girl last night had said, about her songs having sex appeal.

Now that she was listening to how she was singing them, that was true. Not because she danced in ways that were provocative, but the way she imagined the lyrics, the way she let her lips shape the words... she could understand how that worked.

What if she emphasized the effect?

Ju closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let her voice go, exploring the acoustic of the room and then, half a verse later, the song itself. It felt good, relaxing, in a way that singing to the golden-glowed audience at Wednesday's didn't quite manage to be.

A verse and some of the refrain before the end of thee song, there was a soft click, and Ju shut her lips, opening her eyes to find the woman - Rhea, she'd actually seen her the previous night - was standing inside the room, back leaning gracefully against the door.

"Please go on," the strange voice shredded through the last lingering memories of her song, and both of them made a face which Ju imagined was pretty similar. Rhea quirked a smile of one unused to smiles, and Ju's eyebrows rose.

"Of course," she only answered, however, her eyes downcast. She was here to sing, after all.

"Are you comfortable there?" The thick carpet swallowed the sound of the stilettos, but she could hear the voice coming nearer and looked up. "The rooms are ours to use. You don't need to pick a spot which limits you in any way."

While at first Rhea's voice had seemed edged and clumsy, Ju had to admit that it had a soft, soothing ease to it, gentler than the sharp, accented English that she usually heard in the Qiu household. The lilt to it spoke of a quality that resonated deeply with Ju, enough that when Rhea took her hand, the shorter woman let herself be led.

And let those soft, delicate fingers hold on to hers, reassuring and pleasing at that mere touch.

When she sang, then, it was quieter, and she found herself sinking into the unfamiliar, wide dark eyes, even as they opened more, as well as the delicately accented lips parted as though to swallow every note.

The slender body leaned forward as the song wove on.

Ju hadn't known that her music had that this effect, so close.

She swallowed, and changed the tune. Or the style. The next one was livelier, and it drew a slightly surprised look from Rhea, the precise eyebrows arching, before she responded with a quirky smile.

And dancing around the room. Eventually, the long arms wrapped around Ju, and they were dancing together. It was effortless, somehow, even though she was singing the melody they were spinning to, and when they were closer and their lips locked, it didn't seem strange, just the perfect way for that song to finish.

The kiss lasted longer than Ravenna expected, her breath coming back with a gasp when it broke, and her eyes opened only to meet the dark, mysterious eyes of Mary so close to her, and with that soft crinkle which she figured was amusement.

No, glee. Bright enough for her to mentally make the correction even as her hand reached up to caress the delicate, exotic face, fingers tracing the curve of her cheek, the line of her chin until she could hold the tip. And then she ran the back of her knuckles down along the clear line of her throat, ever so lightly.

Oh yes, that got the Chinese woman's eyes to widen and her lips to part a little again.

"You _have_ done this before." It wasn't a question, nor an accusation. A statement with a faint tinge of surprise.

"Yes," Ravenna answered. "Although at the time it was more curiosity and less--" she ran her fingers, _just so_ , down Mary's spine; it made the shorter woman straighten and press a little closer into her, "--desire than tonight."

The dark, exotic eyes half-closed with pleasure. "Ahh... I haven't." A perplexed look, and then with the same decisiveness Ravenna had seen before the kiss, Mary lifted her and caressed the outer curve of her breast. Even though the clothes, it was a perfect touch. "Show me, then... Rhea."

The use of her assumed name _almost_ jerked her out of the moment. But then Mary was kissing her again and names didn't matter. Consequences didn't matter.

The way Mary's breath hitched as she sucked gently at a spot on the side of her throat mattered. The softness of her skin when her hand slipped under her blouse, finally, mattered. The way her voice mellowed, when her fingers found spots that merited comment, by passion in a way similar to her singing mattered.

They didn't talk too much more while their clothes pooled by their feet, Ravenna's fingers working clasps and sliding fabric along skin for both of them. She moved slowly down. Coat off, first. Then the clasp in Mary's hair. Undoing the buttons of her blouse one by one, then letting the silk slip over the slender shoulders almost on its own, her lips following it. "So sweet," she said with her breath caressing the top of a breast, and was answered by a small sigh. And a gasp a moment later when the bra was off and Mary's nipple was between her lips and pulled slightly away.

Further down, lips and fingers taking down the skirt and hose, sliding them along the smooth, beautiful legs, revealing the lace panties, not quite fashionable but a stunning counterpoint to the smooth bra. She brushed her nose over the edge of them, but then moved down, to release the dainty feet from the high heels, making the hot singer even tinier. Not that it mattered so much from her current point view.

Ravenna slid her hands up along the back of Mary's thighs, over the curve of her butt, and wrapped them around her waist and back on her her way up, lips tracing patterns along the inside of her legs until she reached warmth and moisture on lace, the smell telling her that the touches had been enjoyed.

So she moved her lips to the middle of the near-sheer fabric, nuzzling and then wrapping her mouth gently against that point and blowing warm air against the sensitive nub. Mary's moan was very quiet, but Ravenna thought her head probably rolled back with that because she could feel the cool silk of hair against the back of her palms. And a moment later, one small and delicate hand holding her arm - fingers tightening but not stopping her.

Time lost its meaning, in a sea of touches and gasps, motions and stillness and moans. They stepped, sideways and together to the bed, clothes pooling by their feet on the way there, little discarded pieces of restraint that both of them lost.

Ravenna took the lead, as she had been asked. She made the slighter, supple body writhe and pant with pleasure, but Mary didn't need long to catch up and figure out how to reciprocate. The result brought them both where Ravenna hadn't even known it was possible to get, quivering with barely contained pleasure and murmuring incoherent sounds to try to express the electricity buzzing inside, ready to spill, until it exploded, overwhelming, absolute, brilliant.

Shared...

When her vision cleared from the brightly-colored spots dancing through it, she and Mary were shuddering, helpless and drained, lying in each other's arms. The two different shades of dark hair were haphazardly tangled up on the pillow; even more emphatically closer, their breaths were mingling. Gasps lengthening into easier, calmer breathing.

Her hand moved, great effort as that seemed, to cup Mary's cheek, fingers trailing on the glowing, gleaming, damp skin as she smiled.

"You are very, very beautiful," Ravenna said, voice raspier after crying out in repeated orgasms so shortly before.

After a moment in which the exotic eyes looked down, she thought, shyly, even after all of this, came the hesitant answer. "I never suspected I could see that, but so are you." In a way she couldn't think up words for, it seemed to Ravenna that the other woman wasn't used to this kind of a surprise.

But she wasn't displeased. This much, Ravenna knew, and her caress caught the faint dimple of a smile. Her eyes couldn't move away, until the dark stars in front of her dimmed and her own drowsiness overcame her.

She wasn't sure which one of them woke first, nor how much later it was; it didn't matter. It was still night; it was still theirs. Mary must have known this, too, because their lips locked soon after they were both stirring.

Belatedly, it occurred to Ravenna that it was rather risky, in its way, to have a tryst with a strange nightclub singer.

She couldn't regret it, not for a moment, but that was another power somebody wielded over her.

Looking into the depth of Mary's eyes, it suddenly seemed like all she had to do was ask, and it would be all right. So she did.

"This had better stay a secret." The words seemed a demand, but it wasn't. It didn't sound it. It was a quiet, humble supplication.

"Yes," came the generous answer, "Rhea." Ah, yes. Even if it wasn't a secret, it wouldn't be known who she was.

But it wasn't that which reassured Ravenna. It was resting, cheek against the comfortable bedding and forehead against Mary's. It would be all right.

There was more kissing.

Then they dressed, and left, and there were sighs that Ravenna stifled. She was Ravenna Montere, heiress to an organized crime clan.

She couldn't sigh.

But she wished she could stay forever Rhea, and never leave Mary's arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to stupid technical difficulties, the ending is coming soon.


End file.
